


Where the Body Goes, the Mind is Sure to Follow

by bees_stories



Series: The Long Road [2]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Blow Job, Graphic Sex, M/M, Sexsomnia, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's body and his subconscious mind are in perfect accord, much to Sherlock's delight, but also to his dismay.<br/>Part Two of the Long Road Trilogy.<br/>Contains sexsomnia. All parties are willing on *some* level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Body Goes, the Mind is Sure to Follow

***

At first, Sherlock thought he must be dreaming and he marvelled. It's not that his dreams aren't interesting, they often are. But they are usually considerably more abstract, his subconscious mind puzzling problems that seem impenetrable by the light of day. What catches his attention is the level of sensory detail. The lips pressing against his are warm and firm. The tongue seeking entrance to his mouth is insistent. The hair under his fingers is short. And when his fingers drift, following the nape of the neck to the shoulder where he draws his palm over the stretchy cotton of a tee-shirt, the shape of the sturdy musculature is familiar. 

Sherlock opens his eyes. This is no dream. He is lying in a hotel bed in Cardiff, Wales, and John is kissing him. 

He doesn't question, he just opens his mouth and John's tongue darts in, seeking his. John's hands seem to be everywhere. His palm, as it runs over Sherlock's arm, sends electric shivers dancing along his skin. John is being unusually assertive, and Sherlock is reminded of how fit he is as he pulls them onto their sides, the better to tangle their legs and press their bodies close. The shivers intensify, but far from being unpleasant, they fire a driving need for more. He pulls John's tee-shirt up and over his head and pushes his boxers down over his hips. When he loses sight of them, they are wrapped around John's ankle. 

He becomes so lost under the growing tide of sensation it takes him several minutes to realise there's something not quite right about what's going on. John's touch is clumsy. When his kisses return to Sherlock's mouth they are sloppy, and Sherlock has to cup John's jaw to align their lips. The curtains are drawn and the room is in full darkness. He peers closely at John's face as they kiss. His eyelids are closed, but it's not because he's lost in passion or he's shamed and is avoiding Sherlock's gaze. 

_Sexsomnia._

The word dislodges from the part of Sherlock's brain that stores psychological terminology. It is a poorly understood condition, but the relevant data points are John is asleep and his conscious mind has no knowledge of what he is doing. It is possible the two bottles of wine they drank at dinner coupled with their busy day solving a faux-kidnapping have lowered John's inhibitions. It is possible that there are other factors at play. However what is plain is that John's unconscious mind and his body, despite his waking reservations, are in complete accord about what they want. His hips are rutting against Sherlock's groin, pressing their erections together. Sherlock reaches between them and they gasp in unison as he wraps his palm around them both, stroking with a sure and steady hand. 

There is an unpleasant possibility that John will awaken and misinterpret what is going on. That he will believe that Sherlock has taken advantage of his trust and willingness to share a bed. He weighs the risks and reluctantly releases his hold, and though he is hungry to touch John, he rolls away onto his back and pillows his hands behind his head away from temptation. 

John is undaunted. He pulls at Sherlock's body, and when he won't be moved, clambers on top of him. He rubs his erection against Sherlock's cheek and then his lips, brushing the head of his penis back and forth until he has no choice but to yield and open to him. Sherlock shifts his shoulders against the pillow, the better to angle his head, licks his lips, and draws John into his mouth. He runs his tongue over the corona, and laps delicately at the steady discharge of slick pre-come from the meatus. The taste is slightly salty, and slightly bitter. He dips several times beneath the foreskin and then licks over the glans, pausing to lavish attention on the frenar band and frenulum. 

John wants more, he's thrusting over Sherlock's tongue, pushing deep. Without the use of his hands, it's hard to control John's actions, so Sherlock does his best to relax his throat and take him down. He swallows around John's shaft and pulls back. John seems to like that, so he does it again, and again, and again. John's hands have found the headboard. He's braced himself, the better to plunder Sherlock's mouth. 

There is a tense moment when John's hips stop thrusting. Sherlock is afraid he might wake, but John has reached his crisis. He spurts hot and salty against Sherlock's tongue. Sherlock leans forward, seeking a less clumsy position, taking in as much as he can so that John spills down the back of his throat.

Sherlock's heart is pounding. His neck is sore from the awkward angle he was forced to maintain. He guides John down back onto the bed, finds his boxer shorts from among the ravaged bedclothes, and pulls them back into place. He can't find the tee shirt, and that causes him a moment of irritation which he quickly dismisses. His own erection is throbbing from neglect. John is quiet now that he is sated, but Sherlock still wants him. 

He grabs a handful of tissues and snuggles close, almost but not quite touching the object of his desire. Sherlock wants to thrust against John's skin. He needs to hear John's sighs and murmurs of encouragement, but they will have to wait for some other occasion. He wraps his hand around his erection and with a few hard, assured strokes brings himself off. 

Cleaning up takes a matter of moments. Sherlock has already swallowed the evidence of John's orgasm and figures a little more ejaculate can't hurt him, so he laps his own come out of his palm (noting the differences in the taste and consistency), uses the tissues to wipe away the sticky feeling that persists, and then drops them over the side of the bed to be dealt with in the morning. 

John rolls over. "You okay?" he mutters sleepily, still not awake. 

Sherlock shushes him and then gathers him close. He softly kisses John's mouth, a mere brush of their lips, and breathes the scent of him. He has no more reservations about expanding the boundaries of their relationship to include sexual intimacy, it is merely a matter of arranging matters so that John comes to the same conclusion. As if in reply to his thoughts, John rolls into his embrace, spooning against Sherlock's chest and pressing his buttocks into Sherlock's groin. His penis stirs afresh, and as Sherlock closes his eyes, savouring the contact, he hopes John reaches his epiphany soon.

end


End file.
